


After The End

by foxygrampaglasses



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fingering, Impregnation Kink, Inquisitor Loses AU, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome, Trans Character, Trans!Lavellan, Vaginal Sex, dubcon, excess use of flowers as a metaphor for vaginas, monster cock, pet kink sorta??, tiny/giant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 16:58:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12280680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxygrampaglasses/pseuds/foxygrampaglasses
Summary: Inquisitor Owaine failed to bring Corypheus to his knees, and instead kneels himself.(PLEASE READ THE TAGS!)





	After The End

**Author's Note:**

> ALRIGHT so, guilty pleasure big time is villain/hero. Don't get confused, this is absolutely rape and I condone NONE of it in real life. Even if you're gentle, rape is still rape so. Don't do it. In my personal canon, my Inquisitor is in a relationship with Cullen so this is a crack fic any way you spin it. What can yah do.
> 
> You can find my corypheus/inquisitor illustrations (and other nsfw drawings) on my porn blog, mrsparklepenis, on tumblr.

Corypheus hadn’t believed he could witness beauty in this gods forsaken world, yet there it was; a slight elven boy with marigolds for hair, dangling by his wrist from Corypheus’ fist. The elf’s gloved fingers dug at Corypheus’ hand, feet kicking the empty air with legs too short to span the arms length he was held at. The moonlight glinting off his sweat and grease slicked hair was all but enchanting. Corypheus had no choice but to still both his and the boy’s hearts. The elf boy must have felt the same, as he called for the trebuchets, calling for the silence of snow to bury them.

Yet both emerged. It was many moons before Corypheus could hold his dear Inquisitor in his boney fingers once more. So, very long. And he ached for it. He would no longer swuander this last blossom of beauty. Yes, he was the flower carrying the orb’s power, Corypheus’ seed of destruction. And now, with the world at his claws, the Inquisitor could finally be paid his dues.

The boy, Owaine, was cuffed in iron to the cracked stone flooring, his mark suppressed by the red lyrium lined shackles. Corypheus sat not five feet from the elf, sure to catch the boy’s eyes as he carefully cut his claws down to his fingertips. Owain’e eyes were dry, but with red around the whites. Perhaps he had been crying, perhaps red lyrium had begun to seep into his flesh. He flinched with each sharp crack of the metal blades clipping at Corypheus’ excessively long nails. The nail trimmings hit the stone floor with a ‘clink’ that echoed in harmony with the rattling of Owaine’s chains.

“Inquisitor, please relax. You are not here to be harmed.” Corypheus drawled, his consonants spoken with loose lips. He set the shears aside.

“I find that hard to believe.” Owaine tried to swallow but his dry throat stuck to itself and sent him into a coughing fit, his head bowing with the effort. When he recovered, he rubbed his face against his shoulder in an attempt to wipe away the spit. Corypheus watched with great interest as Owaine, head bowed, lifted his eyes to him. “This place isn’t exactly inviting.” he punctuated his sentence by pulling on his chains, filling the air between them with the haunting echoes of metal hitting metal.

Corypheus was sad to say the Inquisitor was correct. To begin with, they were several stories below ground. The walls and floors were a bit cracked and light was scarce, mostly coming from the lyrium but also from a few sconces and a single chandelier. The room was heated only by red lyrium harvested from a few townsfolk. Owaine was so sensitive about using humans for, well, much of anything, but especially lyrium harvesting. Owaine fell into another coughing fit, his chest heaving.

“That won’t do.” Corypheus clicked his tongue, his expression ever relaxed. He rose from his throne, sweeping his disembodied claws from his path. His feet clicked as he crossed the underground cathedral, as if his every step demanded an audience, to the water basin in the eastern corner. The sound of water sloshing echoed through the cavern, as everything did, like a beautiful song. Owaine coughed.

Corypheus returned to him, knelt, looked his blossom in his hardened eyes.

“A flower cannot bloom without proper care.” He said, lifting the bowl, which was more like a teacup in his oversized hands, to the Inquisitor’s dry lips.

And the boy drank.

The corners of Corypheus’ torn lips lifted, his smile half gum and teeth and half mottled flesh. The boy was not so stubborn as to commit himself to a slow death. This was good. And oh how Corypheus delighted in watching the thin trails of water spill down the boy’s unmarked throat.

He let the boy drink his fill, the whole bowl, and said nothing of the shame sinking into the bags of his eyes as Corypheus rose and returned to his throne. One leg over the other, his robes billowing with the motion. He took a board in hand and smoothed it against the split edges of his freshly cut nails.

“Why...” Owaine’s voice was so much less sure than Corypheus had become accustomed to and he reveled in the Inquisitor’s shaky breath reverberating off the stone floors and walls. “Why am I here if I’m not to be tortured?” He asked, his hair settling about his pointed ears as he lifted his face to Corypheus.

“You have been quite the thorn in my side, this much is true.” Corypheus kept his eyes on his file and nails if only for his pride. The scratch of the file filled the silence as he considered his words. “But that thorn belonged to such a lovely flower.” He sighed, slipping his half lidded eyes to glance at the boy.

Owaine’s face was pale yet flushed, the tips of his ears cherry red and the apples of his cheeks were begging to be bitten. His shoulders loosened, rigid muscles beginning to go slack.

“Excuse me...?”

Corypheus frowned. “I saw the throne of the gods and it was empty, and yet. Not all was lost in this plain.” He took a deep breath and blew the dust from his fingertips. “I would claim the world and I would keep this flower safe from its cruelty.”

Owaine’s lips twisted, all the tension he’d let go of folded back into his muscles and then some. I’m not your property!” The glow of the red lyrium caught the spit flying from his tongue, sparkling before the droplets dispersed. Corypheus sighed from his nose.

“You could never understand the kindness I have done you...Inquisitor.” Corypheus’ tongue slurred over the title, swathing over his teeth and tasting it for all it was worth. He couldn’t bring himself to speak the boy’s name, not yet. “But that is fine, you will come to accept it. And you will bloom here in my light.”

The rose blushed, marigolden haried boy said nothing more as Corypheus went about meticulously smoothing back his long neglected nails. The boy was to be his, and once they shared their bodies as one there would be no doubts in neither his nor the Inquisitor’s mind. He would be gentle and kind even if the boy would fight it. Corypheus steeled himself to be soft, and so he rounded the tips of his nails as smooth as anything could be.

“Why are you cutting your nails?”

The boy’s voice gave Corypheus pause, the sentence hanging on his held breath, creating a momentary lapse in the scratch of the file. His half lip-half gum and tooth smile returned. Just a few fingers more and the boy would see for himself what use these dulled nails would serve him.

“They are for you, young petal.” He said.

“What does that-” Owaine’s rose forcefully, his bare feet cold and useless against the chains rooting him in place.

“Fear not, I said you were not to be harmed.” Corypheus spoke in a hushed tone, his ancient voice filling Owaine’s skull like only a god could. Yet the Inquisitor did not cease his struggle.

“I’m not sure you know what harm means.” He said through the strain of pulling against his restraints.

Corypheus exchanged his file for a damp rag, washing away the dust and dirt.

When he finally rose and crossed the threshold the boy had tired himself, but the adrenaline was still visible in his heavy breaths. Corypheus kneeled, first one knee then the other. He held his hands up towards the boy, displaying to the boy the finely buffed edges of his once gnarled claws. Corypheus smiled, letting his hands fall to Owaine’s small, plush stomach. The only thing separating their skin was the loose cotton tunic hanging from the boy’s shoulders.

The Inquisitor nearly whistled as he gasped through his teeth when Corypheus’ thick fingers slide up his tunic and under the string of his undergarments. There were no protests and Corypheus gently tugged the panties off the boy’s hips, the fabric whispering against the back of his thighs, legs, ankles, and slipping off into nowhere.

Owaine pressed his legs together, heels to his bare bottom. His arms remained by his side, tugging against the chains welded to the floor on either side of him. Corypheus swore he felt a heart beat he looking at this thorned rose, delicate yet unyielding.

Corypheus brushed his palms along the Inquisitor’s exposed thighs covered in the lean muscle of an active mage. So soft, velvety with warm blood pumping just below the skin. He squeezed, gingerly, at the boy’s full backside, and relished in the twitch of his spine, the slight part in his plump lips. He wanted to ravish, but he must be gentle with his rose.

With his freshly manicured fingertips, he traced Owaine’s exposed crack. Slowly, inch by inch, his finger found the desperate slick of the elf below him, beads of excitement running from his special spot to eagerly greet Corypheus. His fingers pressed against that slick, and followed it to the tulipped source protected by Owaine’s tightly clenched legs and feet.

Corypheus was not a monster, on the contrary, he was a right gentleman. He made no such moves to maneuver his lover, rather, he worked around his posture and pressed his thumb between the heel of his feet and his slick flower cunt.

The very moment his finger met the edge of his hole, Owaine’s body jumped. His legs jerked, and Corypheus seized his chance to fill the space between the Inquisitor's knees. Still Owaine tried to keep his legs closed, only succeeding in squeezing Corypheus’ sides.

With great anticipation, Corypheus rubbed the pad of his thumb along Owaine’s slit. A pearl, a dewdrop, slipped from his entrance as Corypheus slid his thumb over his large, erect clit. Owaine came to rest on his back, chest rising and falling dramatically. Corypheus delighted in the golden halo of hair fanning out from his head and the peachy glow of his flushed collarbone peeking out from under the V cut into the hem of his tunic. Owaine’s eyes rolled back when Corypheus swirled his thumb once more over his clit. His jaw trembled.

“Please, not like this-” He spoke between heaving breathes.

“You will be well taken care of, fear not.” Corypheus reassured his charge.

Kneading one last time through Owaine’s weeping flower to thoroughly coat his thumb in the boy’s slick, Corypheus pressed into the hidden insides of his delicate Inquisitor. Owaine’s back arched, his heals locking behind Corypheus’ back. The elder one hummed, satisfied with the response.

He pushed further, taking the time to experience the feeling of his flower’s insides pushing against, yet ultimately yielding, to him. The girth of just his thumb was comparable to the erections of his once-human subjects, yet Owaine made room for the digit easily and with sticky slick inviting heat. Owaine’s lips trembled as Corypheus pushed the gnarled knuckle of his thumb past his tight hymen and pressed against his bladder, a moan vibrating up from his chest.

“Gods beyond-” Owaine gasped, Corypheus pulling his thumb from the Inquisitor’s vagina just to let it suck him back deep inside.

“You are doing quite well, Petal.” Corypheus said, greatly pleased by the tight squeeze of the boy’s walls in response. He pressed his knuckle upwards once more, watching in fascination as the boy gasped. Fascination fueling his movements, Corypheus began to rub his knuckle rhythmically against that spot, enthralled by the way it made the boy writhe around his thumb and the nearly melodic whimpers floating off his slackened lips.

“S-stop, if you don’t I’ll-” Owaine choked back a moan, his hips grinding against Corypheus. “I’ll-please don’t make me squirt, please, ple-” Owaine’s pleas devolved into a keening moan, his walls clamping down around the thumb and a clear stream bursting from his flower.

Corypheus was mesmerized by the unending string of screaming moans and clear ejaculate soaking through his robes and pooling under the Inquisitor. It wasn’t until Owaine’s spine finally lowered back to the floor that his breath returned to him, his legs falling from Corypheus’ sides.

Corypheus was very pleased by this.

Many nights would be spent this way, in his chamber, with his flower. Slowly he worked that flower, blooming it just as he promised he would. And soon he would feet it, repay the Inquisitor for his many spilled orgasms.

Now accustomed to his home, OPwaine did not struggle when Corypheus apprached him with cream and a blade. The Inquisitor, unsure of the items’ purpose, simply knew without hesitation to open his legs, his flower, to Corypheus. And Corypheus rewarded him with a kiss to a raised nipple, a finger ghosting over his asshole, but nothing more.

Tonight Corypheus took his time preparing his treasured marigold. With care he smoothed the cream over the Inquisitor’s hair. And with deftness not common of such large hands, Corypheus sheared the coarse hairs from his garden. Tomorrow would be a very special night, he explained, you must be well prepared.

That night Owaine’s only stimulation was the razor scraping against his mound. Corypheus needed the boy desperate, less he ruin the boy and all his hard work.

When the time came, Owaine was shaking as if he’d been denied his hard vice. And oh, corypheus was not so cruel. He’d kept his Petal waiting for long enough.

His knees hand’t met the floor before Owaine’s cunt was bared to him, smooth and dripping.

“You are so sweet, boy.” Corypheus cooed, caressing Owaine’s inner thighs with his knuckles. His cunt quivered. “Tonight you will finally receive what you’ve always deserved, but you must be patient.”

He set about opening his boy up. First with his thumb, then two fingers just slightly larger in total girth than his single thumb. Owaine’s cunt sloshed for him, squelched and sang for more. Corypheus pressed his eyes shut, reigning in the urge to slam his erection into his love right then and there.

One more finger. Desperate and hungry for more, Corypheus felt a jump in his crotch as Owaine’s pussy ate his three fingers up. The boy cried out, clearly in pain and yet also in rapture. Corypheus savored the glove-like fit of the Inquisitor’s walls around his fingers. Yes, this would do.

Owained whined as Corypheus withdrew his hand and rose, but Corypheus held up his palm.

“I promised tonight would be special.” He said, tugging at the ties of his robes, his erection bobbing as the fabric fell from his body.

Long and thick, ridged and dotted with bumps of red lyrium, Corypheus’ cock was a piece of art and Owaine’s glistening eyes fixed on him spoke the truth of that. Corypheus smiled, hovering over his small flower love.

“Tongiht, wer are one.”

Corypheus, on all fours, positioned himself over his lover. The dazed look on the Inquisitor’s face; rosey cheeks and blown pupils. Corypheus couldn’t get enough of that look.

He slide his cock between Owaine’s slick petal lips, pressing against his so small clit just as one might another erection. Owaine shuddered. Corypheus let the tip of his cock slip to the pearl center of his cunt.

“Corypheus.” The boy lifted both, small hands to Corypheus’ weathered face.

“Yes, my love?” He said.

“Please say my name.”

Corypheus took the boy by the shoulder and began to press himself in. Owaine gasped and groaned, trying desperately to relax his muscles to accommodate Corypheus’ searing cock. With just the tip past his hymen, Corypheus began to rock, each shallow thrust pushing him just a touch deeper within his love. He groaned as the thickest part of his erection finally passed through that tight ring of flesh, his tip kissing Owaine’s cervix.

The boy was heaving, just the shear girth of Corypheus’ magnificent erection putting him on the edge of bliss. Corypheus took the boy’s hand in his own, gently resting it against his belly and outlining the bulge of his cock displacing the boy’s organs.

“Owaine.” He whispered sweetly, rearing his hips back and slamming into his lover.

Tears and moans spilled from Owaine’s lips in equal portions, his breathes shallow and gaining in pitch with each of Corypheus’ thrusts. He kept his hand to his stomach, feeling his belly fill and empty.

“Yes, Owaine, so beautiful-” Corypheus moaned, the added pressure of Owaine’s hand pressing from through his belly sending a jolt through his body. “You will be my legacy.”

His hips moved with perfect fluidity and Owaine’s voice sighed notes meant to break glass.

“Fill me, Corypheus, please.” He pleaded, his brain swimming in a fog of ecstasy. Corypheus smiled, slowing his pace.

“Might you wish to sire for me?” He asked, bringing a hand to one of Owaine’s breasts. He whined.

“Fill me, with cum, with children, anything, please!” He said, pushing himself against Corypheus with what little strength he still commanded. Corypheus chuckled.

“Yes, my love.”

He slid in deep, feeling the resistance, the pressure nearly painful. He pulled out, grinding against Owaine’s cunt, and pushing back in deep, deeper, deepest. And then he was hammering into him with such force Owaine’s moans shook as if he were riding in a chariot.

He could do nothing but scream and pray he wouldn’t pass out before the end.

As Corypheus approached his undoing, he bent over his charge, putting his whole back into the thrusts splitting his love in twine, pushing his insides aside to carve a place for his erection, his seed.

“Owaine, my love.” Corypheus sighed. And then he was chanting the inquisitor’s name like a charm, moaning and thrusting and parting his love’s wall and digging into his womb, seed bursting from his cock and filling up, up, up. Owaine screamed, ejaculate spraying from his cunt as Corypheus’ seed spilled, filling his belly, bloating him.

Cum oozed from Owaine’s stretched hole. It was many moments before Corypheus pulled himself from his love, uncorking and releasing a wave of cum. Owaine’s back arched, the release of cum shooting a second orgasm through his tired body with a silent scream.

And when Corypheus spilled his seed two nights in the future, it bonded with Owaine deep in his belly. He would harbor Corypheus’ child. And each night Owaine would scream for more. More cock. More cum. More children. Four more children, exactly. And the youngest child, decades from this unholiest night, would see his elven father’s broken eyes and weak smile for what they truly were.

And this child, abandoned by his family, would finally avenge Andraste’s Harold.

**Author's Note:**

> May or may not write a sequel about the kid killing Corypheus and bringing peace back to the world?? If you'd be interested in that do let me know, it fuels my nonsense greatly.
> 
> -Foxygrampaglasses


End file.
